


The Destinctions Between Good and Bad

by linnydefensesquad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Multi Chapter, Pansmione - Freeform, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linnydefensesquad/pseuds/linnydefensesquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione still knows that Pansy is bad and Pansy still knows that Hermione is good, but do they even know what those words mean anymore?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Destinctions Between Good and Bad

Pansy Parkinson is bad in two ways, and neither of them are the ways I used to believe her to be. The first way is the direction she's gone tonight: a long black evening gown, catlike movements, and the knowledge that she's got her eye on you even when she's not looking. The second way is the aesthetic I usually see from her: a messy chopped ponytail, muscle tank, her signiture leather jacket, and a blasted cigarette hanging from her naturally pouted lips.

The wind bites into my bare legs and the anger flares up again. My tea length gown was the wrong choice for this event, I see that now. And not just because it's winter, but because it makes me look... Young.

Here I am, at my very own fund raising event for my very own project at barely 23 and I make a fool out of myself by appearing even younger.

Laughter swells from inside the building that I have my back to and I deliberatly don't turn around. One of the entertainers I hired must be doing very good, or very bad. 

The door swings gently open behind me, the woosh of the displaced wind playing at my hair. Still, I don't turn around. The gentle tapping of expensive heals on concrete echoes through the covered entrance. Still, I don't turn around. The click, click of a metal lighter shatters my calm in one fell swoop, and finally, I turn to face her.

There she is, her sharp face, half shadow, half moonlight, her cascading dress seemingly made of the shadows she's lurking in, the tip of her cigarette alight and providing the only bit of color on the scene. But those eyes. They should be illegal.

I say the only thing I know how to say at a time like this: "Those things will kill you, you know."

She breathes out a laugh that has no voice, only power. "So you've mentioned about a thousand times."

"Well, it's true."

"Well, rest easy knowing you won't be to blame when I'm gone."

"Don't talk like that. Not right now, please." I turn away from her, but not much. It's all I can manage.

For some reason, she sees that as an invitation to take a step closer.

"Here's what I'm confused about, Granger. You spend years working towards the position you have now. You practically prostitute yourself to get this goddamn fund raiser-"

"That's not true!" I shriek, feeling my nerves fray into little bits of dust at my feet.

She smiles darkly, that little half smirk that used to mean danger when we were at Hogwarts together. 

"Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But the point is, you've made this project your numero uno priority for months, and I know this because you haven't been able to shut up about it, even to me. So? What gives?"

"What gives with what?" I respond, biting back how I know exactly _what gives._

"This should be your weirdly specific, elvish wellfare, Cinderella night, Granger! You should be out of your nerdy mind with happiness after all the time you've devoted to making this event a success."

"So you're going to insult me when I'm down?" I snap back, not yet ready to come back to the real issue.

She lets out a sigh, and shrugs. "It's my defense mechanism. Sorry." 

Something must be wrong with me if I believe that she actually is sorry, that she doesn't really mean it. But I do.

"Listen..." She takes another step closer so there's no where for me to hide from her eyes. The pierce me deeply and hold me fast. "We both know that the event is going fabulously. Not a single thing has gone wrong, the staff is perfectly in sync, the entertainment is actually entertaining. You didn't start to get the case of the mopey eyes until carrot top, lanky McGee started being...kind of an ass."

I fold my arms around myself for protection from her words. They're true, but that doesn't mean I want to deal with them. 

"Ron didn't mean anything by it. He probably didn't even know he was hurting my feelings. We do this bantering thing a lot and he gets caught up in it." My words scramble out in a mess of excuses that I'm not sure I believe. 

"Granger, come on. It was a jerk move. Even I wouldn't have made fun of things tonight." Her eyes won't let me go. I need to escape them.

I force myself to spin around and walk away from her. As each step creates more distance, my breath come easily again. 

"You just don't know what it's like!" I say to the sleeping town, definitely not to her. "You're single and you can let all of your priorities suit yourself. But me? I'm the youngest witch to ever be granted the lead on my own project, which you'd think would be fabulous, and maybe it would be, except for the fact that my fiancé is perhaps the worst auror in the department. I don't really mind that, by the way, but he does. Ron can be so jealous sometimes, to the point where I can't even celebrate my accomplishments without it turning into a fight where he shout things like, _'You think you're so much better than me,'_ or ' _Congratulations, you're smarter,'_ and it breaks my heart. I want to be excited with him! I want to share with him the things that are important to me! But I can't or else I'll damage his precious pride! So no! He doesn't know how important tonight is to me! Because I haven't been able to tell him-" I let my raised voice break off as my vision suddenly blurs and the ground rushes up meet me.

My face burns, my throat feels consricted, I'm making the most pitiful sounds, and damn, I'm sobbing on the ground in front of Pansy Parkinson. 

Warmth engulfs me as two slender but strong arms wind around my torso. I can feel her pressed against my back. The tears that fall grow slower, quieter somehow, and I lean into her.

This is a turn of events that I wasn't expecting.


End file.
